


Inventory

by PlumeLagoon



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Fluff, Kissing, M/M, Strong Aziraphale, hand holding, soft Crowley
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-08
Updated: 2019-09-08
Packaged: 2020-10-12 09:34:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20562125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PlumeLagoon/pseuds/PlumeLagoon
Summary: Inventories were agony.Not for Aziraphale.  Aziraphale would shuffle along contentedly, carrying stack after stack of precious first editions from their homes on the bookshop's many shelves, to his desk to be cataloged, and back again.No, it was agony for Crowley.





	Inventory

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to @wheeloffortune-design on Tumblr for letting me write this fic while they streamed tonight! I had a great time and I appreciate every ounce of both their art and support!
> 
> The picture that inspired this fic can be found at https://wheeloffortune-design.tumblr.com/post/187570918665/crowley-being-brave
> 
> You can find my Good Omens blog on Tumblr at https://bebopandticketyboo.tumblr.com

Inventories were agony.

Not for Aziraphale. Aziraphale would shuffle along contentedly, carrying stack after stack of precious first editions from their homes on the bookshop's many shelves, to his desk to be cataloged, and back again. No, it was agony for Crowley.

"You and I both know you haven't sold a single piece of parchment since 1988," Crowley pointed out, splayed on the back room couch in a distinctly demon-shaped divot, the foam remembering every angle of Crowley's body after the four hours he'd spent on it. His comment was an exaggeration, maybe, but surely the angel hadn’t sold enough of his collection to warrant counting and recounting it, season after season. It was habitual above anything, a routine. A comfort.

"I should hope not," Aziraphale replied from his desk, “If nothing has changed, I’ve done my job correctly.”

“Your job to persuade people out of your store before they can set their hearts on one of your precious novels?” inquired Crowley.

“Precisely,” Aziraphale beamed, picking up his latest pile of check-offs, “I’ll only be a bit, Crowley, surely you can be patient just a tick longer.”

Crowley got to his feet and slinked into the bookshop. Aziraphale had his back to him, shelving the books he’d finished and picking up another bundle. “Funny thing about virtues, angel; most demons haven’t got those.”

Aziraphale didn’t miss a beat. “You are not most demons.”

When the angel turned, arms stacked high with tomes, he was met by piercing golden eyes, suddenly much closer than Crowley’s voice had led him to believe. He was about to ask if everything was alright. Seldom was Crowley without his shades during the day, even indoors.

Lips pressed against his before the question could leave them, and Aziraphale’s eyes widened. Crowley's lips were warm and smooth, the contact firm and determined. Surprise made the angel lean back, and Crowley followed, leaning forward until the books were pressed between them. It must have been uncomfortable, but Crowley didn’t seem to mind.

Crowley’s slim fingers found the white-knuckled grip Aziraphale had on the bottom book, covering them gently, stroking with a sort of unspoken reverence that made Aziraphale’s eyelids flutter. Inch by inch, the angel eased, lips parting in a tiny sigh that took with it the tension in his shoulders. If Aziraphale didn’t know any better, he’d swear he felt Crowley smile in that instant.

When they pulled away, Crowley still was. Small, but there, a charming accessory to the rosiness dusting his sharp cheeks. Opening his mouth the first time led to a tumble of unintelligible syllables that may have, in some long dead language, passed for words. He shut it, cleared his throat, and tried again. “Right then... now that I have your undivided attention--” And Crowley did, truly, have the angel’s undivided attention. The hands covering Aziraphale’s were the only thing keeping the stack of books between them from an unsightly scatter. “--I think you’ve tempted me enough. Let’s get lunch.”

With no small amount of effort, Crowley coerced the books from Aziraphale’s grip, the latter trying not to look smug as Crowley nearly buckled under their weight. It might have been a small miracle that kept him upright as he set the books on the desk to be dealt with later.

Aziraphale straightened his waistcoat, and bit his lip.

The demon noticed. “Out with it.” He prompted.

“Yes, well...” Aziraphale glanced at the bookshop door, ensuring he had closed up, and with a wave of his hand, the curtains across the windows drew shut. “Would it be terribly uncouth of me to suggest... dessert... first?”

Crowley’s features shift quickly from confusion, to surprise, to amusement, before settling on fondness. His smile returned. “Whatever speed you’d like, angel.”


End file.
